Together At Last
by ardavenport
Summary: Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher are together at last, but Jean-Luc must trust Beverly about why.
1. Chapter 1

**TOGETHER AT LAST**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 1**

* * *

><p>"Jean-Luc?"<p>

Gray light. Captain Picard moved his head. The gray he saw throbbed light to dark with the pain in his head. He felt a hand, an arm under him and he struggled to support himself on his elbows.

"Drink this." Something hard and plastic touched his lips, bumping into his teeth. Flavored water trickled into his dry mouth.

"Ugh." His tongue managed a couple swallows, then the moisture was gone and his mouth was dry again. The arm supporting his back lowered him back to the firm padding he lay on. He grabbed for it, his hand fumbling through smooth, sliding cloth and his hand groped up a sleeve, a slender arm. He squinted up at blue and black, shadowed hair and far away gray.

Beverly Crusher. She touched his forehead. Her fingers were cool and his headache receded.

"Uh-ah, wh-wha-"

"Shhh, don't try to talk yet." She freed herself from his grip and gently laid his arm over his chest. She produced a medical scanner from a pocket in her medical jacket while he tested his lethargic limbs. There was no overt pain or numbness, just cramps and twinges, and . . .

He was in his uniform. He was still wearing his boots under the blanket that covered him. A dark gray ceiling arched above. It was the wrong color.

They were not on the ship. The air was cool and smelled faintly of something like cut wood, nothing at all like the neutrally filtered atmosphere aboard the _Enterprise_. Were they on a planet? The gray wall next to him was carved with an intricate vertical pattern, Light escaped from under dark coverings above him and in other parts of the room. Crusher's tricorder hummed over him while he turned his head to look around.

The room was roughly circular, gloomy and gray, like a dungeon. A huge, imposing circular table sat in the middle of the room. A conference table? That was the first thought that came to him and it stuck. Had he been there before? He could not remember ever entering this room. A few matching chairs, like squat thrones, were near it, but more of the chairs were clustered around him. Beverly Crusher sat in one and several blocky pieces of medical equipment were in some of the others. It was field medical equipment.

He shut his eyes. A new pain had emerged in his temple, worse than before. The doctor's hand pressed his head back down on the pillow.

"Don't move around too much."

"Ummmm, what happened?"

"How do you feel?" she asked him.

"Terrible," he answered without opening his eyes, the pain in his temples beginning to make him nauseous. His skin felt warm and flushed, the air in the room chilly. "What happened?"

"Do you remember anything?"

Picard felt two faintly sticky squares touch his forehead; a relieving hum started up and his headache retreated again.

"Um," he started, trying to think of the last time he'd seen her. Was it breakfast? He couldn't think of what they'd eaten. But they had discussed their mission. He went down with Troi to speak to . . . "We're in the conference room on Lutis," he realized, his eyes opening again. She gently pressed down on his shoulder, keeping him from rising. "I was at a reception with Troi. We hadn't started yet, but I remember Ambassador Yaido falling . . . "

"Do you remember anything else?"

He shook his head weakly, tempted to close his eyes again. Why was she asking him? Didn't she know?

"Where's Troi?"

"She's fine. It's all right. You're going to be fine."

"What are we doing here?" he mumbled, his headache was gone.

"Shhhh, I want you to rest for now." His body felt all too willing to comply with her instructions, but their odd situation kept his fuzzy thoughts focused for a few moments. He was apparently lying on a cot in the official meeting chamber of the Lutii council with his chief medical officer and a full selection of portable medical equipment. No other people around, no Troi, no starship.

"Ungh," he complained inarticulately, his eyes closing, his will losing to Crusher's instructions and he slept.

* * *

><p><strong>-o*o- -o*o- -o*o- -o*o-<strong>

* * *

><p>He'd been awake five minutes now. Listening to her. Occasionally peeking in her direction. In the gray, shadowy light, the sky blue medical jacket that she wore over her uniform appeared dull and dingy in the gloom. He hadn't tried to rise, just lying there, covertly trying to figure out what had happened on his own.<p>

Why were they here? If he was injured, why weren't they on the _Enterprise_? She had obviously been in contact with the ship, as evidenced by all the equipment around them, the shiny blanket covering him. But why was she treating him here? He organized the mystery into a list of inquiries and actions in his mind.

The tricorder which commanded her attention chirped and the doctor let out a sigh of exasperation. He lifted his head, rose to his elbow, the blanket rustling and sliding down, its warm leaving him in the chilly air. But he was wearing a body suit under his uniform, so at least he'd properly dressed for the weather, whenever that had been. He rubbed his chin and found more than a day's worth of stubble, which surprised him. How long had it been? He had no impression of time passing; it felt to him as if he might have been on the ship only just that morning.

His stomach growled. She looked up. Irritated, he tossed off the blanket.

"You shouldn't get up, Jean-Luc."

"Why?" He rose, going to her. His body and joints were stiff. How long had he been lying down? His skin flushed; the air was still cold. She closed the tricorder with a "snap," then steadied him when the dizziness caught up with him. "I'm fine." He shrugged out of her grasp.

"You shouldn't be up yet."

"Why? Why shouldn't I be up yet?"

She bowed her head, looking away from him. She flipped open the tricorder, and studied the readings and he studied the top of her head. She moved away from his scrutiny. Her hands laid down the tricorder and removed packets from an open box on one of the chairs. Starfleet rations.

"You should have something to eat."

He didn't even acknowledge her offer.

He stalked over to the door; gray as the faintly patterned walls, but smooth and featureless with no obvious lock or opening mechanism. It remained closed to his approach. He carefully examined the edges of the doorway that sealed them in. His fingertips probed the hairline that divided door and frame. He flattened his palms against it and pushed, but the portal remained as solid as if it were a mountain. "Of course," he muttered.

He flung a glance her way, then examined the equipment on the conference table: several different types of bioscanners, assorted hyposprayers, blockish gadgets, triangular gadgets, lighted oblongs and silvery cylinders. His eyes stopped at a largish one, sitting apart from the others. He frowned and reached for the latch of this particular piece of Starfleet standard field equipment. Equally unpalatable and minimal for all species, It was nobody's first choice for a privy, but it worked. He finished as quickly as possible and cleansed his hands. Not that Beverly Crusher would care-she was a doctor, after all-but the lack of privacy truly irked him.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, his voice fell flat with barely an echo in the gray, timeless room. He turned back to her. She had sat down in one of the chairs.

She tilted her head from her tricorder and met his eyes. For a fleeting moment he got the impression that she was about to tell him. "You should lie down. Or have something to eat." She nodded again toward the rations she'd picked out for him, lying alone on another chair.

Picard narrowed his eyes back at her. What was she doing? Why were they here in this gray bubble chamber and not on the _Enterprise_? Where _was_ the _Enterprise_? She and the field equipment were the only familiar things in this cell. Were they even on a planet? He'd subconsciously assumed that was the case; the room was so still, the air had an organic taste to it that made him think of growing things that would not be on a starship. But he didn't really know that any more than he knew how long he'd been there.

Picard looked around, up the walls to the ceiling, so gray and featureless that the eyes wouldn't focus on it. No lights, no lines, no air vents . . . He sniffed. The air smelled chill and clean, like an early morning outdoors. It was being recycled somewhere.

His eyes again rested on the doctor. She at least looked like Beverly Crusher; nothing suspicious or stiff about her movements, but that didn't mean anything; he'd been fooled before. He frowned. That was a plausible explanation, that he'd been spirited away and held captive by alien observers. That had actually happened to him before.

He went back to the medical equipment and activated one of the scanners. Brainwave patterns-ten, eleven readings, all different; body temperature readings, again ten, eleven readings, with temperatures ranging from normal to a few degrees above; cardiograms; electroencephalograms . . . She was watching him closely . . . but why? He flicked off the switch and eyed the gray room slowly. Muted lighting stuck in perpetual gloom and no way to tell if it was night or day.

His stomach growled again. His back to her, he picked up the rations. He returned to the bed and sat down, his eyes coming to rest on her again, her attention now back on her tricorder. He bit off the tabs, nibbled something crusty and sipped something fruity and liquid.

It would be a simple explanation that the Beverly Crusher he saw was actually an alien imposter; that would explain her behavior. But he couldn't honestly say that the real Beverly Crusher wouldn't do the same things, if she had a life-and-death reason for them. He sipped and nibbled, and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a faint reminder of his earlier headache.

"How long have we been here?"

"You were unconscious for two days." She didn't look up.

"Mm. I don't suppose you'd care to tell me how that came about?"

This time she looked up and locked eyes with him. He read reluctance and . . . fear? . . . before she broke contact and continued on with her work.

He mouthed a silent, "No."

"Can we contact the ship?"

She shook her head. "Force field."

"I suppose expecting an away team to beam down in the near future is wishful thinking as well?"

"I'd say that."

He was beginning to feel unwell again, fatigued. His fingers closed on the tabs of his half eaten rations, sealing them and he put them aside. He knew he should begin investigating the walls, the light fixtures that he could reach, but he had no energy for it. He sat on the cot, his hands on his knees, his thoughts spent. He frowned, his lethargy adding to the puzzle. If he escaped this room, where would he be escaping to? His eyes rested on the other person in the room. Or escaping from?

He sat and watched her work, a kind of dream-like tranquility settling over him like a depression. What was wrong with him? he wondered with no energy to act on the question. His inquiries into his present state had come to nothing, but if he could remember how he'd gotten here on his own . . . .

Memory tickled at his thoughts and he closed his eyes-Ambassador Yaido standing with him in this room, her bejewels shoulders, her vertical slit eyes, her hand reaching toward him. Troi talking, but he couldn't remember what she had said. A room full of Lutii, metal and jewels decorating their broad shoulders. Long, plain, straight skirts wrapped about their waists. Tasteless food at the reception. The images came to him with no sense of order of when they'd come.

"Jean-Luc?" He started. Crusher sat next to him, her hand touching his shoulder. The air, he realized; the scent and coolness of the air in this room was the same as that at the reception.

"Tell me what you remember."

"About what?" He saw the frown on her face and was tempted to smile.

"About the mission. About why we're here."

"Why don't you just tell me?" he demanded.

"I can't." She actually looked sorry about her lack of cooperation.

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that, either. But there is a reason. You just have to trust me."

Are you giving me a choice? He wondered. But why would Beverly Crusher ask him for this kind of trust? What lives were in the balance for her silence? Her hand, still touching his arm, was warm. It felt right. Her face, her expressions, the sound of her movements and his own lethargy took away his motive for making any more demands, and made him even _want_ to answer her.

"Um . . . I came here to deliver the Federation's decision about exchanging technology with the Lutii. I . . . was in here . . . with Ambassador Yaido. I . . . I must have passed out. I heard people arguing about . . . my species. Riker and Troi were here. They . . . " He winced suddenly and leaned into her, his head contacting the blue material of her medical jacket.

The pain. This is what it felt like when . . .

He lost it, the momentary link to his memory. He heard the tricorder and glimpsed its colored display at his temple. Then he felt the hypospray against his neck and everything blurred.

"Doctor. I'm-"

"You are not 'fine,' Captain." She pushed him down onto the cot and covered him with the blanket. "We'll talk later."

"Hmph," he mumbled, weakly objecting to what she was doing to him, and fighting his own desire to just obey her voice and lie down. He had a fleeting mental image of her lying down next to him, the blanket covering both of them.

The ability to speak left him then. He closed his eyes and everything went black.

* * *

><p><strong>- - - End Part 1<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**TOGETHER AT LAST**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 2**

* * *

><p>"Damn," Doctor Crusher swore softly to herself.<p>

Lying quietly on his cot, Captain Picard covertly watched her. He'd woken up several minutes ago and hearing her movements, he'd remained still, his eyes closed except when he opened them a crack to peek in her direction.

They were still in the same gray conference room, utterly unchanged from when he'd last looked at it. He had no idea how long he'd been out. He lay warm, under the blanket, and listened, the air cool on his face. His nose and ears were cold. He listened. Beverly Crusher talked to herself.

"There's nothing here," she muttered, obviously frustrated. What wasn't there? What was she looking for? Her back was to him, so he couldn't see what she worked on. "Come on, Beverly, what could it be?" she grumbled. She turned back toward him and he quickly shut his eyes. He heard her sigh and a moment later he peeked again. She ran her hand through her long, red hair, her head bent over a computer terminal, it's bright, crisply lighted screen stood out in the gloomy, gray room.

Long minutes passed, but she didn't say anything useful. He thought about 'waking up', but he knew he wouldn't get any more information out of her that way.

Finally she got up, took a drink from a cup sitting next to her work space on the conference table. She'd been nibbling on a plate of something while she worked as well.

Crusher stretched and yawned and looked his way. He shut his eyes. For a moment he was afraid that she would come over to check him. Her scanner would quickly reveal that he was awake. But her footsteps didn't come near him. He heard her moving about, settling down. He carefully opened his eyes. She lay on a second cot, a blanket pulled up over her, her medical jacket draped over a chair next to her head.

He waited. When he heard her breathing slow and steady he quietly got up. His earlier discomfort and dizziness seemed to have completely gone, though the stiffness of lying on his back for more than two days remained. At least he was assuming that was how long it had been. He rubbed his chin. He thought his beard was a little longer, but he really wasn't sure.

Picard silently stretched in place, keeping an eye on the doctor, but she didn't stir. The crisp air helped him think.

Most of Crusher's medical equipment sat on the imposing conference table. He went over to it. The contents of the room remained unchanged from when he'd first seen it; lighting, gray walls, furnishings. He couldn't see anything that he didn't remember seeing before, so it appeared that Crusher was just as much a prisoner as he. And the scent of the room now smelled faintly of their inhabitation, as well as it's original woodiness.

He quietly sat down and opened the medical kit on the conference table and inventoried it's contents. The instruments inside were less than ideal tools for what he wanted, but they would do. He removed a probe and a laser cutter from the kit and set to work on the largest medical computer. Feeling like himself again, as if he'd recovered from an illness, Picard had no intention of meekly sitting around while events moved around him.

After shutting off the computer, he popped open a back panel, making as little noise as he could. He prodded insides for the power supply. If he could connect it up to the tricorder, he knew that he had a fair chance of negating the force field. The tricorder alone might have been able to do the job, but he wanted to be sure of making a big enough hole for both of them to escape quickly.

He paused. At least Crusher had told him there was a force field. He activated the tricorder and then quickly muffled it's hum in his tunic. In the echoless chamber its usual activation sequences sounded unnaturally loud. He looked over his shoulder, but the doctor hadn't stirred. He cautiously scanned the area. Yes, there was a force field.

He glanced at Beverly Crusher again. He was so used to working _with_ her; he did not like their current opposition. He would never have imagined that he could feel so frustrated and even depressed to be alone with her. He looked away from her.

Presumably she was being influenced by their captors. The Lutii? But how? They both seemed to be prisoners, the Lutii conference room making a good cell. No windows, no access to the outside, one plain featureless sliding panel for a door. The huge, blocky conference table itself was fixed to the floor. Picard, still holding the tricorder to his chest, tried to remember the near past.

He vaguely recalled beaming down to the planet and being met by Ambassador Yaido and a crowd of other officials. They'd all been dressed formally with much flashing metal jewelry adorning their shoulders and long floor length robes and skirts. Picard remembered how difficult it was to read their expressions. It had been the eyes; Lutii eyes were oriented vertically instead of horizontally like most humanoids in the Federation. Their 'eyelids' were vertical slits on their smooth yellowish-green heads. He strained to remember more, but it wouldn't come.

He shut off the tricorder and lay it on the table and probed inside the medical computer for the power supply module. His fingers found the right shape and curled around it's edges. He pulled and it came away from it's connections. He eased it out of the computer.

Troi.

Picard paused in his work again. Troi had been with him. The Lutii had begun the formalities with a reception. Picard distinctly remembered asking Troi about . . .

"What are you doing?"

Picard whirled about. Doctor Crusher was getting up, tossing the blanket aside. He laid the module down on the table.

"I'm working on a getting us out of here."

She reached for the tricorder and half-dismantled computer. "Jean-Luc, don't-"

"Why?" he challenged her. She didn't answer, her hand on his arm. "Dammit Beverly! I'm not going to just sit here!" He jerked his arm away from her.

"Jean-Luc, please trust me. I can't say any more."

"That's not good enough." He reached for the tricorder again. Angry that she still insisted on pushing trust on him. And angry with himself that he hadn't done anything until now. What had happened to him?

"Jean-Luc-"

Pzzztt!

Picard didn't see where the beam came from. He just saw a bright flash of blue light. It stung his hand; the muscles spasmed from the shock and sent the tricorder flying.

"Noooo!" He turned at the sound of her voice, just in time to see Doctor Crusher moving toward him. The second beam hit her in the back. He leapt up, bruising the backs of his legs on the unyielding chair. He caught her, sinking to the floor with her to break her fall.

"Beverly!"

Huuuuuummmmmmm.

He looked up to see the computer and medical modules disappear. A transporter beam. Even the tricorder disappeared. The only thing that remained was the room's original furnishings and the cots and blankets.

"Um, hmm, ugh." Doctor Crusher muttered and moved weakly in his grasp. There was no sign of a burn on the back of her jacket, but an energy beam could easily blister the skin without leaving a mark of the clothing covering it. Sitting on the floor, he pulled her up so that she faced him and pushed her red hair back away from her face, her eyes half-closed and unfocused.

Umm, wh-wha hap-nnn?" she mumbled.

"I suppose I should have listened to you." He held her shoulders, keeping her from falling over. "They took the medical equipment."

She looked puzzled, as well as stunned. "Wha? They're nah s'pose t'do tha."

His grasp on her shoulders tightened "Who? Who's not supposed to?" he demanded.

She started to answer, her mouth hanging open, her blue eyes wandering past him. But she didn't speak, and her brow furrowed with worry. Frustrated, he shook her.

"Who Beverly? Who wasn't supposed to take the medical equipment away?" Her head wobbled forwards and back, but she didn't respond to him. "Who are you working with, Beverly. Why? Why won't you answer?" he shouted. She blinked, surprised, but even disoriented she seemed fixated on not telling him anything.

He got up. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, her blue medical jacket covering her back dropped to either side of her and dragged on the floor.

"I don't think you're the real Beverly Crusher," he pronounced over the figure struggling to keep from falling flat on her face. He felt a twinge of guilt, not at all certain of his judgement. But whether she was real or an imposter, he wanted answers, his frustration and forced inactivity burying his misgivings.

"I'm not going to cooperate in this charade any longer." He walked around her as he spoke, his footsteps hardly echoing in the dim, gray chamber. She pulled her hands away from his feet, struggling into a sitting position as he passed in front of her.

"I have to tell you that I've done this before. I've been kidnaped, probed, experimented on, possessed and manipulated by better entities than you. And I refuse to play along with this game of yours." She gave his words no reaction, her eyes unfocused and looking even more like the real Beverly Crusher . . . . disheveled and stunned.

Picard knelt next to her.

"Talk to me, Doctor. Tell me what's going on here," he pleaded this time, hoping that she might respond to the change in tone. She jerked her head toward him and stared back at him with glassy eyes, her hair falling before her face. She wasn't going to tell him anything.

Angry now, Picard sprang to his feet and stalked away. Dammit, why was she keeping him in the dark?

"J . . . J . . . "

He turned quickly as she attempted to call his name. Was she ready to talk? His hope diminished as he caught sight of her trying to crawl toward the cot. He moved to her side, helping her to her feet and walking her to the cot. She lay where he placed her, unmoving and breathing heavily, her eyes closed.

"Beverly?" He gently pulled clinging, red hair away from her face.

She stirred and moaned, opened her eyes and looked at him, then closed them. Picard frowned. Either this person was a very good actor, or it was the real Beverly Crusher and he'd been abusing his chief medical officer.

His fingers brushed across her forehead, and her eyes flickered open. He noted the dilation of the pupils and felt for her pulse. If she was a fake, she was a very good one. All symptoms he saw matched those for a serious phaser stun. If she was real, she easily might not comprehend what he was saying to her anyway. His sympathy quelled some of the fury he still felt.

"Rest. I'm going to try to get us out of here."

He rose. He examined the floor where the equipment had been. Nothing had been left behind. He checked the door; it was still locked. His eyes swept upward to the high ceiling and he saw nothing but shadows.

He examined the seal of the door, the walls, the remaining furniture and the floor around it with his fingers, probing for any change, vibration, or maybe something he'd missed, but he found nothing. He returned to the cot.

Crusher stirred when he knelt next to her, but her eyes remained closed. He looked at her carefully. She was the only thing left. Everything else had been taken.

He brushed stray hairs away from her face. The skin under his fingertips felt warm and entirely human. But she did look pale, and the hair, a little damp with sweat, clung to him. He ran his hands lightly along her slender arms and wrists, but he felt nothing. He brushed past a lump at her waist, and pulled out a medical tricorder and scanner from one of the pockets of her jacket. How many of these things did she have? He activated it, but it seemed perfectly ordinary, and it told him that the doctor was human, so he put it back.

He slid his hand under her shoulder and then under her back, his fingertips running down her spine. That made her stir, but she still didn't wake up. He stopped and pulled his hand out from under her when he realized he was looking in the same place where Lieutenant Commander Data had his off-switch. While he might have been hoping that he would find some telltale bump or hole that would confirm her status, he did not think that she was an android.

His search progressed down her legs. He paused over her inner thighs and then decided, to hell with discretion, and checked there, too. Places where people didn't look were exactly where things got hidden. But he found no projections or hidden signaling devices or extra appendages. Now reasonably convinced that she was real, he was annoyed with her that she wasn't concealing some device or tool that he could use. If he were being held prisoner, then escape was the first priority, but she obviously had nothing with her to further that goal. He would have expected better from her, or Commander Riker, or Lieutenant Commander Data, or Counselor Troi that this ill-conceived half-rescue.

He took her boots off and examined them carefully. Other than a strong foot odor that told him she must have been wearing them for a few days, they told him nothing either. He sat on the floor, back to the cot, and looked over to her face. She'd stirred some, her expression distressed, while he'd searched her, but had shown no other significant signs of consciousness.

He mentally debated taking off her medical jacket and searching her more carefully, but he didn't get up to do it. He had given up the notion that she was a imposter. He hadn't really seen any good evidence that she was; he'd only wanted to use the accusation to try to force information from her.

He was still sitting there, holding her boots, when the transporter beam caught him.

Picard froze while the transporter took both of them. It was not an _Enterprise_ transporter. A strange world of pale blues, pinks and grays seized the molecules of his body . . .

. . . A Lutii standing behind a flat waist-high control panel stared down at him. Doctor Crusher lay behind him.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Picard demanded of the stranger. No, not a stranger. Picard recognized this person. He couldn't remember a name, or even whether or not this person was male or a female, but he was certain he'd seen this Lutii before. The arrangement of jewelry about the shoulders, the wide red collar, the narrow, greenish face, he knew he'd met this person before.

The Lutii did not answer, vertical slit eyes fixed on him. Angry, Picard rose. He'd come to this planet on a diplomatic mission, and just because the news he had for them wasn't what they wanted to hear, they'd held him prisoner, presumably for their own selfish ends. He felt quite certain now that the Federation had been damn smart to decide not to trade technology with these people.

The glow from the wide transporter platform glowed white under him, the strongest light source in the room. The transporter stood in the center of a large bay, huge boxes stacked all around.

"Why have you been keeping us prisoner?" He took a step forward and the Lutii's hand came up holding a fairly obvious disrupter. Picard stopped and looked at the Lutii's face.

"What do you want from us?" His captor's finger twitched on the trigger of the weapon and he tensed. A brief instant to fire-too short for him move-could bring either stun or injure or kill. And what did this person intend for Doctor Crusher, still lying on the platform? The Lutii's eyes did not waver from him. They remained frozen in that huge, darkened space, action waiting to happen.

A tickle and then a serious twinge pricked the back of Picard's head and his attention focused even more on the Lutii, instinct telling him immediately what the real source was. The eyes narrowed, like curtains on glassy windows, and Picard knew he'd stared into eyes like that before while an intrusive, telepathic pressure built up and spread into his mind.

He went to his knees, his hands and then elbows colliding with the lighted transporter platform. The pain drove upward, into his brain, like a nail. Doubled over, his forehead touched the smooth platform. Paralyzed, as if a real probe were drilling into the back of his head. He couldn't move. He couldn't even be sure that the pain wasn't now from a real probe entering his skull. They could have come to him and be standing over him and doing anything they wanted and he couldn't stop them . . .

"Aaaaaahhhh." Picard shuddered, collapsing onto his side, but the cry uttered had not been his own. The pressure stopped and a cool wave of release made him shiver. He pressed his arms to his chest and rolled over onto his back.

Thooooom!

Something nearby exploded and his ears rang from the boom and small bits of debris pelted him. He smelled smoke.

Picard rolled over onto his side again and squinted his eyes open. He saw darkness and haze over the glowing platform his head lay on. The room lights had changed. Energy beams flashed blue and yellow over him. He was lying on a raised, lighted platform, in the middle of an open room, in the midst of a battle. Voices yelled amidst the turmoil and he thought he heard, 'Captain!'

* * *

><p><strong>- - - End Part 2<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**TOGETHER AT LAST**

by ardavenport

* * *

><p><strong>- - - Part 3<strong>

His head cleared immediately. He curled his body around like a snake, low to the ground, to Beverly Crusher. He shook her and she stirred and groaned, but not coherently enough. He got his arm around her and dragged her with him.

He couldn't tell where the voices were coming from, so he moved perpendicular to the crossfire overhead. He wouldn't be any closer to friends, but he wouldn't be any closer to foes, either.

Something was pulling on Beverly Crusher's hair. It was caught under her shoulder as it dragged across the floor. She moved and found herself squashed to another body, her face pressed against the red and black fabric of a Starfleet uniform. She grabbed at the arm around her and her body fell, her legs dropping and colliding with the stairs that they descended into noise and acrid smoke. The sharp pain of a shin bone colliding hitting the hard surfaces cleared her thoughts amazingly fast.

She got her arms around Jean-Luc Picard's middle. Her feet tried to find the floor under her and he stumbled. He pulled her upright, untangling them both and she saw a flash of energy fire very close behind them. The floor was hard and cold. One of his large hands covered her head, pushing her into his shoulder and they dove forward and down into shadows.

Her arms and legs still tingled and a spot in the middle of her back burned and itched horribly, but her thoughts cleared quickly, adrenalin pushing the fog from her mind. The pain from her shin crested and then receded. She stayed close to Picard's body, barely able to see in the gloom. Her eyes weren't adjusting to the dim. Dizziness, numbness in the extremities, possible shock? She ran through the symptoms she felt. It was worse than a stun, possibly cell damage, but not fatal, since she was able to think and move on her own . . . somewhat.

His arms tightened around her and he dragged her with him again to better cover. She tried to scrabble along with him. They settled behind a large, cold, bumpy crate. Crusher could at least see the energy flashes overhead. The battle seemed to be following them.

Picard kept shifting position, his whole body tense and squirming around while still holding her. What the hell did he expect to do? They weren't armed. She tugged on him.

"Jean-Luc . . . " A close shot exploded very near to them and he dodged the debris with her.

"Dammit, I can't tell which side is which," he complained.

"I thought I heard Worf," Crusher said of the voices echoing in the battle.

"I did, too." They both flinched away from another near miss. "But I can't tell which side he's on."

"Hopefully our side," Crusher commented to his shoulder. She could just barely see the line between his neck and uniform.

"And which side is that, Doctor?" he asked sarcastically. "I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to explain what we're doing here, and who's shooting at us?"

More flashes flit by overhead and around their dark little haven among the tall boxes and crates, light as fleeting as their safety. They heard a bellow of rage. Definitely Worf.

"We were trying to get you away from the Lutii. They put up a shield so we couldn't beam you out. The only thing they'd agree to was to let me stay with you." She leaned on him, feeling flushed. Was all the energy fire heating up the air?

"You might have told me this two days ago. What's the point in not telling me? Were they watching us?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes. She couldn't see much in the dark anyway. It was getting hotter. A film of sweat covered her face, and he smelled of it and the smoke. "But they said it was too dangerous for you to remember the attack, that it could kill you."

"How?"

"They said that a telepathic assassin had killed Yaido and would have left a residual sub-entity in your mind. They called it a 'suhlzhat'. That's what I was looking for."

Brow furrowed, Picard stared into the darkness and increasing smoke around them. He didn't know very much about scanning for independent, telepathic life signs, but he did know a few things.

"You can't detect a telepathic trace like that with a medical scanner. None of our scanners can. That's why you can't shield against *them." He got no answer. A spurt of phaser fire exploded several meters away, close enough to make them both cringe away from it. "Did Troi sense anything?"

"No, but the Lutii didn't let her stay with you. And she's not exactly a strong telepath." No further explanation came.

"So you took their story and volunteered to stay with me and tried scanning for it on your own?" Crusher nodded her head. She wasn't sure he could see it, but she didn't feel like admitting the failure. His response came back with the expected derision. "I had no idea you were so naive, or so vain about your abilities."

Crusher clamped her teeth shut over her response. Another near miss forced her to duck, pressing her nose to his ribcage so closely that she could smell his skin underneath. Neither of them had had a bath in over two days. _Have you noticed how close we are right now, Jean-Luc? Or that either of us might die at any moment?_

She hadn't believed the Lutii's flimsy excuse about the 'suhlzhat' anymore than Riker had, but they'd needed to keep the Lutii talking and going along with them was the only way to do it. She'd felt guilty enough about stalling him and playing the pawn for the Lutii while Riker came up with a better way to get him off the planet, but now he was criticizing her about it? She didn't trust herself to say anything civil back to him. And her head was aching. The smell of burning plastic and metal around them was making her nauseous. The burn on her back was cooking nicely and the tingling in her arms and legs was so bad that her fingers and toes felt like solid lumps. Even so, the floor against her feet was so cold that she felt like it was sucking the heat out of her body.

Crusher looked down and moved her feet against the hard floor.

"What the hell happened to my boots?"

This time, he didn't answer her.

Something really big blew up.

For a moment, the only thing in the room was the explosion, huge and bright orange. The light quickly died, but the boom stayed and went all the way inside her head. Covering her ears would have been a futile gesture, if she'd been able to manage it. A patter of small objects fell around them. His arms around her, his shoulder under her were the only things that weren't consumed by the thunderous sound.

She couldn't even tell when it really ended, her ears were ringing so badly. Then a whine and a new disorientation took over . . .

* * *

><p><strong>-o*o- -o*o- -o*o- -o*o-<strong>

* * *

><p>She curled herself around Picard. He was the most solid thing in the new confusion around her, and she hung on tightly before the darkness dissolved around them. <em>Damn transporter<em>, she thought.

She felt weak, dizzy, alternating hot and cold and burning pains in her joints and over her whole back. The swirling unreality of transport left them on a floor in too much light. She squinted and her eyes teared up immediately from the bright, but familiar bluish-gray surroundings.

Hands on her, lifting her up, she felt them pulling her away from Picard. She clutched at him, managed to snag a sleeve, a hand and it firmly held hers, a feeling more real and solid than the jumble around her.

The pains and dizziness vanished into a pleasantly numb feeling. Sickbay, she had to be back in Sickbay. It felt right, smelled right, the tones of the voices around her sounded right. She lay on her stomach, her arms under her head. But she hadn't let go of the hand. She felt cool air on her exposed skin as someone cut away the back of her uniform. She could hear her own breathing, and the little whirs and muted beeps of the medical monitors. She wondered who was doing the procedure. Probably Selar, she decided.

The hand in hers started to slip away and that jolted her out of her doze. She grasped for the hand. She thought she made some kind of noise. _You're not getting away from me now, Jean-Luc. I want you here when they're done working on me. If I have to admit what a screw-up this whole mission has been, I want to get it over with._ The firm grip on her hand returned and she suddenly realized that she wasn't understanding the words of the voices around her. _Damn, it's worse than I though._ She had a sense of panic, muted by the medication she'd been given and suddenly felt glad of the hand she still hung on to.

Picard looked down at where his hand covered Beverly Crusher's. It seemed so small and delicate under his. Doctor Selar finished treating the burn on her back, the red mark now completely gone. Selar cut away and removed the rest of her uniform. He had to let go of her hand then. Feeling foolish, he averted his eyes while they slipped on a pair of blue, Sickbay pajamas, covered her and turned her over onto her back. He knew that Beverly Crusher would have enjoyed seeing him blush; she wouldn't care at all what he saw. Medical people were so clinical and cold blooded about personal privacy.

But Crusher didn't like the activity. She squirmed fitfully in their grasp.

"It's okay, it's all right," Nurse Ogawa comforted her, stroking her forehead. Doctor Selar, her hand lightly resting on Crusher's stomach waited until her colleague had settled down before scanning her vital signs. Other than the burn, Crusher had nothing worse than a severe stun for which Selar recommended rest.

Commander Riker, Counselor Troi and two Lutii entered Sickbay and came to Picard.

"Captain?" Riker nodded toward him and Crusher.

Picard greeted his first officer and Counselor Troi and assured them that he and Crusher were fine (Doctor Hill had scanned him while he stood by Crusher as she was treated and had pronounced him mostly fit). Selar frowned at the newcomers and then looked down at her patient. She raised an eyebrow, perhaps the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, and she and Ogawa retreated.

Riker introduced the Lutii as Haskai and Losaite.

"I know you." Picard raised his hand to Haskai. Haskai nodded toward him.

"I am grateful to see that Yaido and Haichorin did you no harm." Both Haskai and Losaite offered their apologies for the whole incident. Picard moved the group away from Crusher, so as not to disturb her, but they stayed in Sickbay. He would accept their apology, but be wanted the reminder that they had done harm.

"Telepaths are uncommon among us," Losaite explained. "We did know that Yaido was telepath, and they do have a talent for . . . convincing others to their views. But we had no thought that she would try to use it against you. It was folly. There are no records of any Lutii telepath attempting such with a Human such as yourself. This was not sanctioned by the Councils of Lutis," Losaite assured for what Picard thought was the third time. Obviously they thought that repetition would add value to their contrition. Both Losaite and Haskai's vertical eye slits were open very wide, an expression of sincerity, Picard assumed. The metal jewelry adornments hanging from Losaite's shoulders jingled slightly as Losaite clasped and unclasped his hands. Uncharitably, Picard kept thinking that at any moment they would add, "And now that we're sorry about it, if you'd like to reconsider our trade application to the Federation . . . " But to their credit, they didn't.

"No permanent harm was done," Picard acknowledged politely. "Of course a more detailed explanation of your side in this incident would help considerably in any misunderstandings that might have developed here." He wanted nothing more than to get away from their planet, as soon as possible, but he would fulfil his duty first.

"Doctor Haskai here has been very helpful in that respect," Counselor Troi told him and he had the impression that she was speaking up for Haskai . . .

* * *

><p><strong>-o*o- -o*o- -o*o- -o*o-<strong>

* * *

><p>" . . . thank you for your help on my behalf, Doctor Haskai. I appreciate your . . . " The voices around Beverly Crusher were finally making sense, or perhaps her ability to concentrate on them had simply returned. Picard was speaking, his voice carrying from the other side of the room.<p>

Haskai . . . He was the Lutii doctor who'd refused to treat the captain on the planet because he'd never cared for a Human. It was his adamancy that had forced the other Lutii to deal with Commander Riker, and to agree to let her be the one to determine the cause of Yaido's death. In strict quarantine, of course, but watched and unable to communicate any of their agreement to Picard. Haskai had even made the claim that _if_ a 'suhlzhat' were endangering the captain then it would show itself or expire on its own in at most three days. No one had said anything at the time, but it had been clear that the other Lutii were not comfortable with this time limit on how long they could quarantine Picard. Unfortunately, Jean-Luc Picard had had his own time schedule.

" . . . it was the shock that killed Yaido. Haichorin has confirmed this from his attempt on your mind. You of Starfleet are very, very different; you have traveled far, experienced much. We are . . . quite provincial, especially . . . "

Crusher continued to listen, but her attention wandered. She still felt a bit numb from the stun and the drugs. Probably dalcharin and geratazine for the burn and the shock. She wouldn't be moving very quickly for the next few hours, not that she wanted to. But it wasn't anything that she would need to stay in Sickbay for. And she couldn't stand lying there while her staff, all around her, was busy . . .

'Uh?" She started awake, grasping for something. A hand squeezed hers. Jean-Luc Picard stood over her bed.

"Sorry to wake you."

"Oh, I wasn't asleep," she mumbled back. Riker, Troi and the Lutii had gone and she didn't remember them leaving. She felt pleasantly surprised that he was actually there. She would have expected Captain Picard to go straight up to his bridge and order his ship to its next mission. But apparently he'd let his first officer do it this time.

Feeling more awake, Crusher took a few deep breaths and started to rise.

"Beverly, I don't think you should be getting up." His hands embraced her shoulders, but he didn't stop her. At least he had the sense not to, considering how many time he checked himself out of Sickbay as soon as possible. Crusher closed her eyes, a wave of dizziness making her pause. It quickly passed. Picard stood close to her, his arm supporting her back. "Doctor Selar said you needed to rest."

"Well, I don't need to rest here." She carefully slid off the biobed, Picard still keeping close. Selar and Ogawa appeared.

"Doctor Crusher, it is not necessary for you to get up so soon after your injury."

"It isn't necessary for me stay here, either. Is it." It wasn't a question. She could see in Selar's impassive face that she was right. Selar subscribed to the a rigid code of absolute honesty of Vulcan healers. "No, you are not required to stay here. But you are required to rest for at least the next ten hours. And report back here for a physical examination."

"Fine. I'll rest in my quarters." Selar still stood in her way for a moment, as if evaluating a diagnosis. Then she silently nodded and turned to Ogawa, intending for the nurse to accompany the chief medical officer.

"I'll escort you, Doctor." Selar turned back to see Captain Picard, his arm around Crusher's waist, leading her out of Sickbay. It was logical; Picard and Crusher were quite familiar with each other, and the captain was current in basic Starfleet first-aid training.

Selar raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. Ogawa was grinning.

* * *

><p><strong>-o*o- -o*o- -o*o- -o*o-<strong>

* * *

><p>Picard caught himself tensing again as they passed another crew member in the corridor. He stubbornly decided to ignore any looks he got. Crusher wasn't leaning on him much for support, but they walked together. She stayed close.<p>

His own belief that the captain should never allow the distraction of a personal life to show in front of the crew, seemed a bit petty to him if it meant just walking away from Beverly Crusher now. They entered the turbolift together. She spoke, sending the turbolift on its way.

She looked very tired to him. And her red hair was a mess. The lift stopped and they exited while two ensigns stood aside before getting on. More looks, Picard noted. He didn't look back.

They entered her quarters together. He loosened his hold on her.

"Will you be all right?" he asked. It felt odd that he should just leave her now. There was something missing, but he didn't know what. "Beverly?" he asked when she didn't answer. Crusher felt his touch on her shoulder.

"Beverly?" he asked again, his eyes full of concern.

"I'm sorry. Yes, I'll-I'm fine. I just need to get some rest." He kept looking at her carefully, his brows lowered. And then his expression lightened and he half smiled.

"Well, then. Good night Doctor." He turned to leave.

"Jean-Luc." Instantly, he turned back to her. "Um." She stood there gathering her thoughts. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I treated you on Lutis. I knew you were frustrated. I-I couldn't say anything." He smiled back at her.

"It's all right. You had good reasons. I might have even done the same thing, if our positions had been reversed."

"Would you?" she asked softly.

His smile changed character. "Yes," he answered, nodding.

She sighed. Yes, he would. _We both would; put duty before love. How romantic._ She let her head drop, feeling the fatigue again.

"Hey, you need to lie down." He took her arm and led her to the bedroom. She let him lead her and sit her on bed. He sat down next to her and he ordered the computer to lower the lights.

She'd had little else to do for almost two days on Lutis but think about him. When he lay unconscious and she didn't know what or if anything was wrong with him and what the hell Riker was doing to rescue them, she had sat next to him, touched his brow, the smooth top of his head, and wondered. He loved her; she knew that. She'd known it for months, but she'd had been holding it at arm's length for fear of where it might lead. On Lutis, she'd kept thinking about the things they hadn't said to each other.

Of course she couldn't think of any of those things now that she was sitting next to him, alone in her quarters, safe on the _Enterprise_. Stay, she thought. _I could use a friend to lie with tonight. Not a lover that you might toss away after a week if you get in too deep. Just a friend for now._

"Will you be all right?" he asked her again. She felt his hand touch her back, his arm around her. She nodded.

"Yeah." Then she put her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. "You're not going to tuck me in, are you, Captain?" she asked relaxing next to him. _There aren't any phaser blasts to distract yourself with now, Captain._

He nudged closer to her. She felt his warm breath on the top of her head, the tip of his nose on her hair.

"If it's needed, Doctor," he answered her. "If it's needed."

* * *

><p><strong>## %% ## %% <strong>**END ****%% ## %% ## **

**Note:** This story was written by me and first printed (under the name 'Anne Davenport') in 1996, in _Beyond Farpoint_ 6, a fanzine back in the hard-copy and snail-mail days of fan-fiction, when the internet was starting to take off.

**Disclaimer:** All Trek characters and the universe belong to Paramount; I'm just playing in that sandbox.


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